Personal Narrative

Maritza Mata
Mr. Thompson
ENG11A
11 August 2014
Walking Photo Albums
It’s funny to think that nowadays we can upload and share personal photographs for everyone to see, especially those of us with social media. We can click and share, smiling at the screen, pleased with what we see. Personally, I'm no stranger to this. Since I was around the age of 10, I began uploading photos of myself and things that had interested me. Anything from a glass of water I drank to the newest photo of my favorite band instantly became pixels on whatever profile I had at the time. And although some miscellaneous content had made its way onto my online albums, there were still a few that I hold up to great importance.
If you were to look on my eldest sister, Anisha’s

outdated Myspace album, you’d find one of the greatest nights of my childhood. I still try to hang onto the night of January 31, 2008, and the way the near pitch black concert hall had suddenly filled with a high pitched chorus of excitement. The sound so loud, so piercing, it was as if someone took a string and placed it in one ear and pulled it out the other. I had been looking forward to this day since New Year’s, when Ryan Seacrest had announced that the biggest boyband of that time, the Jonas Brothers, planned to have their “first ever headlining tour” kickoff in Tucson, Arizona.
“Did he say Tucson?” I remember Anisha saying, as we sat in my Nana’s living room watching New Years’ Rockin’ Eve. My mother had probably been out celebrating and, being only eighteen years old, Anisha stayed with me and my little sister, Bianka, at our nana’s house, sitting on or near the rough, tan bedding in the living room.
Embarrassed to admit I had wondered the same thing, I probably nodded or replied with, “Rewind it and check!”
Sure enough, the three boys that we had developed a huge crush on and whose music we loved like it was a child, planned on visiting our hometown. In hindsight, I probably could imagine how overzealous we had been about the news. Already making plans about going and seeing the band in the flesh, wondering how much money it would cost, or when the tickets would go on sale. At the time we weren’t as, some would say, “band-concert savvy.” I don’t even think we checked the internet for sale dates! It was surely a couple days later that I was grazing through the newspapers and saw them along with ticket prices. It was then and there that my sisters and I decided to make getting the best seats we could a priority. We had decided that, if we were to get the tickets first, we had the be at the box office as early as we could…
The day before the tickets were sure to fly into fans’ hands, I bombarded my father with pleas for the whopping amount it would surely add up to (now, when I look at it, it seems outrageously high). The skies had begun to turn blue, signaling for night to come and, just in the nick of time, my dad had dropped off the amount we had asked. To this day, I silently thank him. My mom, stepfather, and two sister’s had gathered blankets and a bag of candy before we all squeezed into our van, preparing ourselves for an all-nighter in front of a public area. Were there going to be people already? my jacket clad eleven year old self wondered. We had arrived to our destination in minutes, and as we began walking to the front of the ticket boxes, I half sang to myself “How Far We’ve Come” by Matchbox 20. I told Anisha that would be the perfect song for the moment, but she just looked at me puzzled, obviously knowing nothing of the song I spoke of. I shook my head and told her, “Nevermind,” and continued to walk. My mom drove to the parking area closest to where we planned to wait, and as expected, a small line of mostly girls and maybe two guys already sat on the cold concrete ground.
“We’re die hard fans,” one guy replied jokingly. Another man had waited as well, but asked, “Are you guys in line for the WWE tickets?”
The answer was a unanimous headshake.
To be perfectly honest, I didn’t stay awake all night. As the quiet, shivering night carried on, Anisha listened to her MP3, I ate a Snickers candy bar, and snuggled up into our comfortable blanket all before I decided that I would go in our van and wait it out. After all, I couldn’t see my breath in the car, and I had been sitting out for sometime. I remember my mom driving back to our house a couple hours after we had gotten to the box office; she bought hot chocolate from Circle K, and I nodded off in my seat and dripped some of the cocoa on myself. Good thing it was lukewarm.
I woke up at around seven, a little disappointed that I didn’t stay up like I wanted. The longer the sun had stayed in the sky, and more people had arrived, the worst thing imaginable happened. Once the ticket offices opened and a lot of people began to get in line and crowd around, it was revealed that there would be a raffle and, no matter how early you arrived, whatever number they picked out would get first pick and, essentially, those who had the numbers after that one would get tickets. It was as if the whole night spent waiting was in vain. A lot of people were angry, and I believe a woman doing a newspaper story about the whole spectacle was interviewing people who had been there, and they didn’t have nice things to say about it either. Eventually, we decided we were going to give up. There was no hope.
“Well, we’ll see how much they are on eBay,” my mom said, and I remember imagining a one followed by three zeroes.
Then something amazing happened.
A woman and her husband came up to us and offered us her wristband. Later I found out that her daughter had already gotten her seats, so she gave the second lucky wristband she had away. What luck! We ended up getting seats that were amazingly close and I was excited all over again.
Nineteen days later, the day had finally arrived. The Tucson Convention Center was packed. Merch was being sold, and the tour bus had sat right next to where we’d waited for the tickets. Once we found our seats, I was admiring our distance. We could see everything almost perfectly. While waiting, the crowd began to go wild. Could it be the Jonas Brothers? I turned my head to gawk, only to find people with cameras scanning our part of the crowd (later we would find out that the cameras were there to capture footage for the documentary shorts shown on Disney Channel). The pre-show playlist kept the crowd entertained, we all singing along to Kelly Clarkson and N’Sync, and I even caught a woman in a yellow vest singing along to “Bye, Bye, Bye.” Even today, I chuckle about that. Then, the lights went low, and the ear-piercing, string-like cries began only to die down once it was revealed that the opening act Rooney were playing, and not the main attraction.
“Are we at the right show?” I asked, turning to Anisha.

“Yeah,” she said.
At this point, I wasn’t really sure, but only because I never was introduced to the concept of opening acts. Overcoming initial uncertainty, I began to enjoy the show. Singing back to the band when they sang.
Then, after their set was done and the intermission was over, the lights went low once more, and the sound of teenaged vocal chords, though not as loud as last time, rumbled the venue. From the start, I began sobbing and singing at the top of my lungs. They were right in front of me. Singing. Dancing. I was awestruck. Joe wore a white ensemble with his straight hair messy, Kevin wore an all black outfit with gold embellished into the cloth, and I remember one of Nick’s outfits displayed his toned arms in a cloud-colored t-shirt and ebony vest. At one point in the show, Kevin brought out a fire extinguisher and immediately became one of the show’s highlights. Their stage was a tiered, and made up of TV sized screens that popped different colors and patterns. Sweat dripped down my face, mixing with tears, and my hair became unruly in the heat.
“Raise your hand if you’ve ever been through a hard time,” Nick announced during the

show.
The lights had became brighter, and I held up my hand, still crying.

Their last song, I think, was “Year 3000” or “S.O.S.” and it was the best thing ever. And when it was over, my sisters and I walked to their tour bus and took pictures. The massive vehicle was, of course, black with their old gold colored emblem. Because of this band, I eventually got into alternative rock and post-hardcore music. Because of them I began wearing a purity ring and writing songs. Though I can’t remember everything about that night, I could still go back to those photos one way or another, look through the scrapbook I stored local newspaper clippings in, and fill in the

gaps.
A week after my 16th birthday, another band changed my life. Set It Off had planned a concert in Mesa at the Nile Underground, and my mother, being a fan herself, volunteered to drive us all the way there. By this time, I had begun using a Twitter account and followed the band and each member. Anisha and Bianka had also done the same, and smiled when the drummer of the band, Maxx, compared the desert to Mars. On the way to Mesa, I looked out the window and couldn’t agree more. The bare land had an unearthly orangey-red hue to it, and I smile knowing that we had drove on the same road as they did. Unlike the Jonas Brothers, Set It Off was more or less an unknown band and their venue wasn’t as easy to find as the massive TCC. Once we got close to the address of the Nile, we had to go down the roads a few times to find it’s estimated location. When we felt confident that we knew where the Nile was, we decided to stop by a nearby Denny’s for a pre-show dinner. Since then, it’s become a staple whenever we go to Mesa for to see the band. After I ordered my smoothie and chicken fingers, I ate anxiously. Hoping we wouldn’t be late. We finished a while later and stopped closeby at a discount store so Bianka could buy a small notebook for autographs. Getting into the car, a small panic came over me, as the letter I had written for the lead singer Cody Carson seemed to disappear.
“Where is it?!” I exclaimed, wanting to cry. “Oh my gosh don’t tell me I lost it!”
Frightened and teeming with anxiety, I began furiously re-writing every single thing I had to say, afraid that I wouldn’t have enough time. Believing that there was no harm in looking, I searched around my car seat and, to my relief, found the note I had written seven days prior. Still unclear of where the concert was taking place, we stopped where we knew the general area was and my mom asked the neighboring shops the exact location. Sure enough, we found the place, and got to meet a fellow fan we talked to over Twitter. Her name was Yahiruh, and she wore her hair in a long braid, her skin was a dark brown, and she donned eyeglasses. Being very socially awkward, and not really verbose, we all tried to make conversation. She even let me and Bianka put our things in her blue backpack. Calm as we were, we nearly lost it as we caught sight of Set It Off’s guitarist, Zach and the singer Cody walk by. The big goofy smile on my face and the small squeals we all made reminded me of a group of love struck girls that show up on television. Cody was a lot shorter and had a smaller frame than I imagined, but it was still a shock to see him somewhere other than a computer screen. When the “doors opened” we began filing in, though some girl with a shrill voice in a red shirt and long loose hair immediately ran in the front, screeching, “I was third in line!” Though I doubt it really mattered. A young, casually dressed boy took our tickets, and stored them in a small box. “I wish he had given them to us,” Anisha would later say, and I couldn’t agree more. Descending down the steps into where all the action would take place was bewildering. The venue was, well, lucky to be called a venue at all. It was a basement, so small and stuffy and humid and covered in band stickers. Two poles also covered in band stockers stood on both sides of a stage so small, it barely came up to my thigh. Lucky for me and my group, there was enough length that we could all get close, no barriers separating us from the performers. A drum set, three microphone stands, and a huge stereo sat onstage, and like us, were waiting for the show to begin. I remember looking up at the pipes that hung on the roof and thinking that Cody would definitely swing from them. If you looked around the room, you’d see that only a few people had come. So few, in fact, I was surprised. Soon the room had gone dark, and the first band had introduced themselves and began playing. Fans of theirs bowed down during one song as the guitarist did his part. At the end of their set, Nisha and I concurred that he looked very much like The Ready Set. I wanted his autograph, but felt too shy and awkward thinking about the scenario. Again, I’m not social type. A good portion of the crowd had left after their set.
The second act came on, trying to be funny by ripping off their pants exposing some sort of short garments. That was the only thing memorable about their performance besides their immature lyrics, and the fact that they gave out white stickers with their band name and logo that we all grabbed for (I still use it as a book mark). I pretended to enjoy their set. During one of the breaks, Yahiruh mentioned that Set It Off stood just yards away from us in the back at their merch table; she went and had them sign a goofy Christmas card they had made, depicting all members as stereotypical people you found during the holidays. The urge to go and meet them bubbled up in me, but I refused to give in. I would meet them after the show with my sisters. Together. Up next was Handguns and another band I don’t remember, though I do recall getting into the music and nodding along. The latter’s frontman came up close to the crowd and brushed the ample sweat from his forehead, which had landed on Anisha. She had said he apologized quickly, though today I still taunt her about it. But in his defense, we were all sweaty and hot. In fact, it was probably the second hottest concert I’ve been to, right behind the We The Kings one a year or two before.
During the final break, all of Set It Off had begun setting up their equipment. “Cody!” Anisha shouted, catching the blue eyes boy’s attention. His plump lips smiling wide as he caught sight of her, wearing a dark flannel and black skinny jeans, and his brown hair as asymmetrical as ever.
“Hey!” he said, pulling her into a hug.
That was when I stole a hug, and as he pulled away, my eyes remained on the scar that shown and a section of his pale neck.
The bassist, Austin, had also waved to the crowd, a dazed smile on his face. Without really thinking, I gave the widest, ugliest smile I could and over-eagerly waved. After a few seconds of both of us smiling and waving, he looked away. Grinning without regret, I smiled, anticipating the show,
The basement had gone dark, as the mix of horror movie sounds had filled the small space. A glance to the left of the stage would reveal Cody slapping himself, putting his ear to the wall, and getting himself psyched for the show. Keeping my eyes on him, I gestured to Anisha to look. She shook her head puzzled, but knew exactly what he was doing. Suddenly the band began playing their instruments. Cody rushing up onstage and introducing the band. After that, I remember only fragments and bits. Cody jumping on the small boxes that sat in front of the stage and jumping off, getting into the people’s faces. At one point he stood over my section of the crowd, but seemed to lose balance and held onto my shoulder, screaming/singing into my face, wide eyed as I returned the favor. The second time, he had held my hand as he sang. His grip was firm, yet soft. Austin had come into my face, too, and sang along. The other guitarist, Dan, had followed suit. Almost everyone in the room danced, screamed, and jumped, especially during “End In Tragedy.” I lost any ounce of self-consciousness I had arrived with and did the screaming parts of the song just like Cody. Moving as he had in the video for “Breathe In, Breathe Out.” And, as expected, Cody swung from the pipes! When it was time for Cody to play “Dad’s Song” I cried. And continued to cry during “Dream Catcher.” Getting so into the music, I tripped and nearly fell over Yahiruh’s backpack. Cody had also held onto Anisha’s hand and screamed into her face, held her hand, and even messed with her hair. My eldest sister even got Austin’s guitar pick! After their final song of the night, they were called on for an encore.
“”This song was our first video-” he had said once they regrouped onstage.
“Pages (& Paragraphs)!” Anisha yelled out.
“Yes!” Cody said, then they went into the final song.
The moment of truth had come. We would meet the band. The first one we met was Austin, half hugging him, his body soaking with sweat, it was as if he had just jumped in a pool. Anisha had told him that our mom wanted to meet him. “She has a crush on you,” I quickly added, an odd smile forming on his face.
Maxx had complimented my red Adventure Time shirt as we took photos. We then took a photo with Zach and Dan, though I had spent at least 10 seconds recording instead of taking a photo. Bianka, Nisha, and I had walked over to the merch to meet Cody, nervous to our very cores. To me, he was a hero. His songs, attitude, and message about being yourself no matter what had drawn me in as well as the orchestral infused sound they had. The band as a whole taught me that I was in control of my internal pain caused by my OCD and I could overcome it. I said as much in the letter I had wrote him.
We had walked up to him, and immediately we were greeted with hugs. He had even recognized Anisha from her Twitter, and asked what my username was. I told him. “The Fictions!” he had said, smiling. “What’s your Twitter?” he asked Bianka. We told him that she changes it a lot. We all took turns taking pictures. And he even insisted on a group hug. That’s when I held out my soul-bearing letter. “Do you want me to read it right now?” he asked me, holding it in his hand.
“Whenever you can,” I replied.
After a little back and forth about it, he decided to read it in the van “when it’s quiet” as I had hoped he would, because I get sheepish when people read what I write in front of me. the three of us told him that my mom would like to meet him too, and he agreed as soon as everything was ready to leave. We took the time to buy merchandise; I bought two shirts and a CD. All the boys had signed it.
“Thank you for coming to Arizona!” I remember telling Zach as we walked away.
We eventually got Austin to go out and meet my mom, who greeted him with a box full of energy bars. He has signed a poster for her and snapped a photo. Being good daughters that we were, we left her outside to go tell Cody that she was there.
Twelve o’clock had come around, and it was time to leave. Everyone had tried to go out the front door, but it was locked. Cody stood in the front, and got the door to open slightly. “Hi!” he called out, but couldn’t actually exit. We all made our way back to the now empty basement, and took an alternate route, where a stagehand was conversing about the shocking death that had occurred on The Walking Dead. Once we were finally out of the scorching underground and into the November night, we walked the twenty-three year old frontman to our mother. He introduced himself and eventually took photos with her. He then began to talk about a Walking Dead maze he had gone through, and a Silent Hill one, where he said the nurses creeped him out. “They were good,” he said of us, after my mom had asked.
“We got gold stars!” I quipped, childlike.
When it was time to say our goodbyes, the most touching thing had happened. Cody had brought Bianka into an embrace. While in his arms, the eleven year old sister of mine said, “I love you, Cody.”
“I love you, too,” he replied.
I remember shouting out how glad I was that he had changed my life as he walked away, though I doubt (and wish) he didn’t hear it. Yahiruh had stayed behind, since her parents had agreed for the band to stay at their house for the night. Handing her a red bracelet, I told her to give it to Cody. I wonder if she did. But even if he never got the bracelet, or even if he never got to read my letter, I got the best souvenirs anyone could’ve given me. The photos of the band and I, as well as the memories that they had helped me make.
All my life I not only had favorite bands, but also favourite pets. The one that I had known almost my entire life was our little, round chihuahua named Raz-B. We had gotten her in 2003 when I was only seven and I always remembered her as the one that had dodged all the bullets, so to speak. While many of our other pets had died, she had always lived, even overcoming a wave of parvo. With that being said, in her entire existence, Raz-B had only been to the vet on a few occasions: the time she had contracted the fatal disease, when her breathing came in pig-like snorts, and when my mom took her in and she had, sadly, passed away. Raz-B had been 13 years old when her time had come. When I got the news of her passing from my mom via text message, I didn’t cry. I guess it hadn’t hit me until I told my friends Keisha, Alicia, and Chace while they played a game of Rich Man, Poor Man. I remember getting into my mom’s car and driving to my sister’s apartment and just letting out a cry and a voiceless scream.
“She was cold,” Bianka would later recount, telling me of how our chihuahua looked and felt. Even though she wasn’t around, we had still kept her dirty, large dark brown pillow she had always laid on for a few days. My mom had seen Raz-B as one of her daughters, and had her cremated and put in our living room in a small cabinet with a glass windows. Because of my chihuahua’s passing, I had shed tears while watching the Tim Burton film Frankenweenie the first time I watched it. And when I had the chance to get free printed pictures, I had one of her printed out from one I had up on Facebook. Her big, bulging brown eyes look into the camera as her dark, wet snout gets a close up. Her short needle-like tan fur covered most of her body, except for the space around her eyes and down her chest. She sits on what I believe to be a table at the veterinarian's office, and a light hand is seen behind her, probably my mom’s. And at the left of her is a grey sweater or jacket. Could it be the one hanging in my closet?
After receiving this in the mail, I showed my mom a coupon she could use to get a huge picture of Raz-B. So far, she hasn’t used it. She had probably forgot about it. But everytime I at my photo, I remember the feel of her ears and fur under my fingers, and her undulating neck.
It doesn’t take much to realize that a simple picture can hold infinite meanings to a person, whether it be negative or positive. For me, my favorite pictures open up doors to other parts of my life that would’ve otherwise stayed locked until the topic came up or I felt like sharing. It’s in my devices and social media, that these portraits are saved and preserved, allowing me to look back at the times I had truly felt joy or pain. In a sense, I carry them around everywhere I go right, as the phone companies like to boast, “in the palm of my hands.”